


Flicker Still

by rei_c



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, POV Derek Hale, Pack Dynamics, Possessive Behavior, Possibly Pre-Slash, Scenting, Scents & Smells, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: If any one of Scott's pack was a trueborn wolf, they'd be able to tell. It takes him all of two seconds, after all, and he's been away from Stiles for weeks.





	Flicker Still

It's different for bitten wolves; he knows he's been dismissive of those given the gift in the past ("racist," he thinks he hears Stiles say, always with that teasing voice, always in the back of his mind) but it's true. If any one of Scott's pack was a trueborn wolf, they'd be able to tell. It takes him all of two seconds, after all, and he's been away from Stiles for weeks. 

Stiles isn't Stiles. Whatever it is, it's wearing Stiles' clothes and using Stiles' shampoo and cologne and it must have been fucking _rubbing_ itself in Stiles' sheets and pillows to get a contact dose, but the thing in front of him has no scent. 

It's using Stiles and using Stiles' scent because it has _nothing of its own_ and Derek's wolf goes _insane_. 

Derek is a trueborn, though, and controlled ("really?" Stiles says, with that particular laughing lilt of doubt that only exists to poke at Derek), so he stands there, eyes narrowed, watching the Stiles-thing, watching Scott's pack, mind racing fleet-footed like the wolf runs free through the Preserve, and -- there. Just a flicker, just for a moment, a sharp, acrid smell of Nemeton and panic and fear and resignation and spark-magic, the honey-spice-ripe-apple-ozone of _Stiles_. 

The scent disappears again, gone just like that, but Derek trusts his nose and he can't help the way his lips part, teeth showing in challenge ("oh my god, are you planning on _hunting_ me?" Stiles says, delighted and horrified at the same time). The Stiles-thing looks at him, eyes narrowing for the briefest of seconds, and then -- it smiles. 

It's just a quirk of the lips, a tilt of its head, not enough for anyone else to pick up on, Derek thinks, but he does, _him_ , the only trueborn, the one that the Stiles-thing has been avoiding, the one that the Stiles-thing knows its host fucking belongs to. He's the only one to pick up the tinge of cruelty in its mischievous smirk, the way its fingers twitch then stroke the side of its jeans, the way it leans back and bares the long column of Stiles' throat in invitation, not submission. 

Stiles is still in there, still fighting, still alive, and Derek will get him back, will free him, will save him, will -- will do whatever it fucking takes, because Stiles is part of his pack and Derek's lost enough packmates to last a thousand lifetimes. Stiles is _his_ and this time Derek's not giving up without a fight.

("thank you," Stiles says, over and over again, "thank you, thank you, _thank you_ ").


End file.
